


Six Cents Dix Neuf

by ladyamesindy



Series: Copains de Combat [1]
Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Biotics, Canon Divergent, Christmas, Holidays, Hospitals, Personal loss, migraines, old friendships rekindled, personal grief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:40:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28200285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyamesindy/pseuds/ladyamesindy
Summary: 619 days ago, Alexandre Shepard received secondary exposure to eezo in an accident that killed his father.  Today, he enters the hospital, room 619, and begins a journey that will change his life forever.This oneshot started as a Winter Prompts writing prompt over on tumblr, but quickly grew into the start of Alexandre Shepard's story.
Relationships: Kaidan Alenko & Male Shepard
Series: Copains de Combat [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2065818
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	Six Cents Dix Neuf

**Author's Note:**

> Many, many years ago when I was in high school, I was paired up with a pen pal over in France. For decades, he and I wrote back and forth to one another. Twice, I was fortunate enough to meet him in person. He was one of the nicest, kindest people I've ever had the fortune of knowing. We lost touch about 21 years ago, shortly after my son was born, but I always looked for him online in the hopes we might connect again. Sadly, about a month ago, I came across irrefutable proof of what I've known deep in my heart; my friend died shortly after we lost contact with one another. Now, all I have left are the memories.
> 
> Alexandre Shepard is a fictional creation of the man I called friend. I can only hope somewhere, somehow he knows I still think about him fondly.

_Room 619._

Alexandre Shepard stares at the number and hears his father’s voice inside his head. _Six cents dix-neuf, mon fils._ A tremor shakes his hand as he reaches for the handle. Either God has it in for him, or He has a very wicked sense of humor. _Six cents dix-neuf._ The same number of days since the eezo ‘accident’ that killed the elder Shepard and exposed Alexandre, which in turn, led to him being here, at this hospital. 

_Room 619._

He enters the room, sets his things by the empty bed nearest the windows before walking over to stare outside. The hospital room is like any other in any Alliance hospital. This one happens to overlook the city of London. Not a bad view by any means, particularly in winter with brightly colored and festive holiday decorations hanging, but it is not where he wants to be. Anywhere _but_ here would be preferable; finishing his studies, preparing for enlistment, anything other than waiting for surgery, for an implant to help him control his sudden and unexpected access to dark energy. He never asked for it; he saw the faces of the crew, of the other kids in his class. His mother. His brother. Disappointment. Horror. Fear. No, he did not ask for this; apparently, what he wants out of life no longer matters.

_Room 619._

The door opens behind him some time later. He isn’t in a private suite, and all Alexandre knows is that his roommate is also biotic. Though greater in number than they once were, not many come through this hospital, and certainly not enough to create a wing specifically to deal with them. What few rooms the hospital does set aside for them have to double up on occupancy if and when necessary. Alexandre swallows tightly. The fist that rests against the wall tightens, and his gaze is captured as the strange haze of blue returns to spark weirdly around it. He doesn’t want a roommate, doesn’t want anyone else to know his ‘condition.’ _Maman_ insists he keep it quiet, to protect himself, his one chance at a future. And David? Well, he was lucky to hear from his older brother at all, and even then, the message was brief. The ship’s doctor said biotics weren’t a deadly condition. Someone needs to explain that to his family and friends.

“ _Six cents dix-neuf,_ ” he mutters, the energy fading as he releases his fist. _Six hundred nineteen days. Why?_

Shuffling steps approach, but stop short of his position. That is something, at least. Alexandre is not in the mood for conversation, good or bad. He wants to be elsewhere, anywhere but here. _No choice._ But, th minute he knocked Stacey Ratzenburger from her seat in class after a violent sneeze with an added dark energy kick, his life was forever changed. It’s no longer a question of what _he_ wants, but where he can be put so as to not be a danger, to himself or others.

“Beautiful view.”

Alexandre huffs softly but does not turn. The voice is deep, warm, comforting in a way, but he really isn’t in the mood to chat. Still, they’ll be roommates for a time, and his parents raised him to be polite. “It is … different.” 

His companion chuckles softly. “Your accent suggests you aren’t from around here.”

Alexandre nods. “I was born in the colonies.” Which is true enough. His mother was on leave when he was born, and his documentation lists Terra Nova as his place of birth, even if it was his home only for a few days. Glancing to his right side, he spies his roommate standing off to the side in the shadows. Odd behavior, particularly for one who seems to be otherwise outgoing and friendly, but Alexandre does not ask. The man’s reasons are his own; Alexandre can respect that and hope for the same consideration in return. “You are from …?”

“Earth. Canada, to be more specific.”

_Canada_. A wild country filled with mountains, trees and wild animals in the western provinces and descendants of his kinsmen in the east. At least, that is how his father explained it once when he was young. He knows better now, of course. Half turning, he eyes the shadow. “ _Vous parlez fran_ _ç_ _ais?_ ”

A soft snort – disgusted? Amused? He isn’t certain – fills the air. “Only when I have to.”

Folding his arms across his chest, Alexandre leans back against the wall, a smirk toying with the corner of his lips. That is a _mood_ if ever he’s heard one before. “ _Tu me comprends?_ ”

This time, it’s a disgruntled sigh of exasperation. “Yes, I understand you. I would have thought that obvious?”

“When you hide in the shadows, nothing is obvious.”

There is just a moment when Alexandre thinks perhaps he’s pushed a bit too much. After all, they have only just met, and not even formally. Yet, something about this man tugs at memories of his past, at a time more comfortable for him than now. 

_How long has it been? Four years? Five? I wonder where you are now, mon ami, and where your life has taken you?_

With a soft shuffle of slippered feet, his roommate steps out of the darkness. He is tall, at least equal in height to Alexandre himself, with a mop of dark hair and warm amber eyes. But it’s the lines of pain at the corners of his eyes that Alexandre notices and he recalls the warning at the desk; _he suffers from migraines_. Immediately, Alexandre reaches over and pulls the curtains to block the direct light from outside. 

“ _Merci_.”

Alexandre’s lips curl upward a tick in appreciation, but he cannot help but tease, “Was that so difficult?”

The amber eyes narrow. “Anyone ever tell you that you are impossible?”

_This_ is what he needs; the distraction, the banter, the return to familiar times. His lips form a full-fledged grin now. “My older brother. Often. Repeatedly,” Alexandre replies. The grin fades a little. “And an old friend.” He shrugs, a gentle movement but one that apparently catches his companion’s attention as his eyes focus on it. “I have not heard from him in a long time.”

“Ah.” Sympathy? Empathy? It isn’t unwelcome, but unexpected. His roommate moves a few steps closer, nods in the direction of the curtains. “Thank you for that.”

“No trouble.” Alexandre gestures toward the beds. “Is it easier for you if we sit?” He tilts his head in some concern. “I can fetch a nurse?”

His companion moves toward his bed even before Alexandre finishes asking his questions. “No nurse,” he insists. “It’s just … results of the tests they did.”

Alexandre follows, climbing up onto his bed and making himself as comfortable as anyone can in such places. He tugs his pillow onto his lap, bunching it in his arms. Old habits offer comfort. “Tests?”

The Canadian lies down, eyes closed tightly, but he still engages in conversation. “I have an L2 implant, given to me when my biotics manifest a few years ago,” he explains. “Horrendous migraines are one of the many possible side effects. They are testing to see if there is anything they can do to help.”

The complete and utter lack of hope in his tone leaves Alexandre on edge. All he knows is what the ship’s doctor told him before leaving. _You are fortunate. You will receive one of the newer implants, not one of the defective L2s._ To a teenager who has no idea what that means and doesn’t want one, it did little to reassure. “Do all who have implants suffer?”

One eye opens and focuses on Alexandre. “No. Is that why you are here? For an implant?”

Alexandre’s gaze drops and he hugs the pillow close to his chest. Lifting one hand, he turns the palm up while wiggling his fingers slowly, cautiously. He still has no real understanding of how the biotics thing actually works. It takes a few moments, but the glow returns. “Yes.”

The other man pushes up a little, folds his arm and rests it beneath his head as he watches closely. “You’re worried.” It’s a statement, not a question.

Alexandre shrugs again. It’s vaguely disconcerting his reaction is so easily seen. “I have no choice in the matter,” he replies. Pulling his gaze back to his companion, he counters, “Fate has decided I need more challenge in my life.” He tosses his pillow back to the bed and flops onto it, staring up at the ceiling. He does not want this conversation.

“That’s a rather fatalistic approach, don’t you think?”

Alexandre says nothing in response, only rolls so his back is to his roommate.

Several minutes of silence pass. In the back of his mind, Alexandre hears his father chiding him gently for being rude, but he ignores it. A soft knock at the door precedes it’s opening, but he ignores that, too. No one is here for him, and he doesn’t expect the nurses to take undue interest until later this evening in preparation for tomorrow’s procedure. 

Soft steps echo through the room, followed by a soft, feminine voice. “There you are.”

His roommate’s voice has a slight edge to it when he speaks, but there is nothing but welcome in it. “Hi, Mom.”

_Mom._ Alexandre fights back a wave of jealousy that grasps hold. It’s stupid; it isn’t his roommate’s fault; it isn’t even Alexandre’s. With another long glare up at the ceiling, he silently challenges, _Why do you do this to me? Why am I such a tempting target?_

When Fate does not reply, he sighs heavily and rolls over to face his roommate and his visitor. But, when his gaze falls upon the other bed, he frowns. Something about the woman, about her face, her hair, maybe even her voice, speaks to him. Or, maybe it’s the small box she carries, so brightly colored and festive looking. A reminder of happier times. 

“How were the tests?” She sets the box on the rolling tray table and positions it between the beds. The response is unintelligible, which is just as well.

Alexandre loses track of time as he focuses on a ray of light coming through the curtains and shining across the room. Just a sliver, but not enough to bother his companion, he doesn’t think. Still, it’s plenty to remind Alexandre of the world outside. Timing, as is often said, is everything; Fate’s decision to throw his life all akilter right before the one holiday he associates most with his father six hundred nineteen days after losing him is ill-timed at best.

_Six cents dix-neuf, mon fils_. _Joyeux No_ _ë_ _l._

Alexandre closes his eyes, teeth gnashing together. “ _Six cents dix-neuf,_ ” he whispers to the shadows. “ _Joyeux No_ _ë_ _l, Papa. Tu me manques._ ”

He doesn’t notice the room go silent, or hear the sharply drawn breaths at the other bed. He doesn’t see two pairs of concerned eyes turn toward him, focused on his huddled form. Alone in his own private world of despair, Alexandre knows nothing but the pain of loss and change thrust upon him. Until a moment later when he is torn from his misery by something completely unexpected.

“Kaidan, why didn’t you tell me –?”

_Kaidan._

The name is common enough, he supposes, but it is one tied to a happier time in his life, one that has been tickling at the back of his memory since meeting his roommate. Bolting upright with a sharp gasp, Alexandre half turns until he can look, _really look_ at the man lying in the other bed. “Kaidan?” It comes out as a strangled whisper, but the other man must hear it. Their eyes meet, and Alexandre stops breathing. Dark hair, dark eyes. An older face marked by time, a few scars, but beneath it all, something so familiar and unexpected … Swallowing tightly, Alexandre chokes out, “ _Mon copain de combat?_ ”

The man’s eyes widen a fraction despite the pain he suffers from, but it’s the word that passes his lips that are the true gift for Alexandre this year. “Alex?” 

He has only ever allowed one person to call him by that shortened version of his name.

Alexandre scrambles off his bed to stand beside him. He glances up to the woman, the ache in his chest lessening. “Nathalie?” She nods.

Kaidan adjusts his bed. “Mom, it’s Alex. Don’t you remember? From the _Lisbon_.”

Nathalie Alenko blinks in surprise, but a slow smile curves her lips at the same time. “Alexandre Shepard?”

One, last tour, the final cap to a long career in the Alliance; the forging of a friendship, now rekindled after seven years separated. 

Alexandre turns back to Kaidan. “I … It’s you. _C’est un miracle._ ”

With a smile, Kaidan extends a hand that Alexandre takes immediately. “Well, it is Christmas …” 


End file.
